


Smoke and Dust

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for 3.06. It isn't easy being the strong one sometimes, especially when the dust clears and all that are left are the what-might-have-beens, the memories and tricks of the mind. And sometimes, being a friend is good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> 1-So it's my first fic posted here but I have a lot on ff.net under AriesTaurus. Happy reading!  
> 2- I don't have a beta in the classic sense of the term but I do have someone that reads through and lets me know if I've goofed. Remaining mistakes are mine so let me know!

Smoke and dust

 

 

He walks into the house, not even knowing for sure how he got here. The keys in his hand mean he drove but he doesn’t remember, can’t recall a single detail. He stares at the keychain in his hand for a beat and throws it onto the couch, heads straight for the fridge and a beer. He twists off the cap, tosses it in the sink and put the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back.

He drinks, gulps the beer down in one go, not tasting it at all. He slams the empty bottle onto the counter before bracing his hands on either side of the sink, letting his head fall forward, chin to chest. He thinks he hears the tinkling of falling glass, maybe feels something sting against the side of his palm but it’s muted, distant.

That was way, way too close.

He keeps thinking, seeing Danny’s terrified eyes and that red dot on his chest and he has to willingly force his thoughts away from there because there’s no good that can come from that. Still, he can’t help the way his mind is twisting the day’s events.

In a flash, that broken body on Max’s table morphs into a shorter, more muscular form with charred blonde hair.

A strangled gasp escapes his throat as he doubles over the sink, the prickle of beer bubbles flooding the back of his throat before he manages to swallow down the urge to vomit.

Now that it’s there, he can’t get that image out of his head and he doesn’t know if the tears in his eyes are from the nausea or imagined grief or even sheer terror.

He swallows hard and makes his way to the bathroom fast as he can because he really needs to sit down and if he’s going to hurl, the toilet’s a better place to do it than his kitchen floor.

He sits on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, leaning over the toilet, breathing hard, tears leaking from his eyes, hands, whole body shaking. He swallows and coughs, choking on a sob or a retch, he isn’t sure. He hears something drip, feels wetness sliding along the side of his palm and he knows it’s blood. He knows it’s his but that’s not what he sees.

He can still see it even though he knows it’s not real, knowing well he would never even have seen it because if that bomb had gone off, he would have been just as dead as Danny. But his mind insists on conjuring twisted images, a jumbled mess of memories, fears and what-ifs. He sees the towers burning and Danny standing alone in the street, broken and hurting. He feels the jarring impact of the plane hitting the E-ring, throwing him to the floor of his cubicle in ONI, a concrete beam landing inches from his head. He can still taste the dust, feel it sting his eyes and burn his throat.

He can still see Danny, staring at him with dead eyes and charred skin, limbs lying twisted, burned and torn all around him.

Just when he thinks he’s gonna puke, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom doorframe, startling him.

He swallows down the nausea and snaps his head up.

She’s leaning there against the door, a sad, understanding ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Hey,” Cath says quietly. “You okay?”

He shakes his head and drops his head, unable to speak, not bothering to stifle the half sob that forces out of his throat. The tears pooling in his eyes slip down his face and he lets them, doesn’t try to hold back. He buries his head in his hands and he feels her sit next to him, her arms slipping around his shoulders, holding him tight.

“He’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I know,” he whispers. “God, I’m losing it.”

“It’s just shock. You know how that goes.”

“I keep… Jesus… I keep seeing him blown to pieces. I can’t… I.. And then, he tells me about his life being borrowed time, about his partner getting killed, about 9/11…”

He’s really crying now, like he hasn’t done in years, not since the day of his mother’s funeral and it’s like he can’t _stop_. Rationally, he knows it’s just nerves, just the shock of it all but it feels like he’s drowning and Christ it wasn’t even him having to hold still, his life in the balance. He stayed, yes, but willingly. He could have walked away. Hell, Danny had all but begged him to, asking him to take care of Grace for him. And all that makes him want to ask is what have I ever done to deserve the honor? All I’ve ever done is kill for a living. Kill so others may live free and safe, but kill nonetheless.

“I don’t… It’s… God what’s… wrong with me?”

“Hey. Stop. Don’t. Don’t beat yourself up. You’ve seen and done a lot of things and a lot of those types of situations ended badly and that alone brings up a lot of memories for you. For us, any of us. And what you went through today? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you’d be rattled by all this.”

He can only huff and sniffle. He knows she’s right. It doesn’t make the ache in his chest any less real.

“Besides, Danny would be flattered by how much you care about him,” she adds lightly, teasing.

He chuckles helplessly and nods, the tears lessening, the pain easing just a little. He feels less like he’s about to throw up so he slaps the toilet lid down, grabs some tissues and wipes his eyes, blows his nose and wipes the drool and snot off his chin.

“Some sight I am. Big, bad Navy SEAL my ass.”

“Badass Navy SEAL with a heart, Steve. Don’t pretend otherwise.” She grabs his hand and stares. “You’re bleeding.”

He looks at his hand and shakes his head. “I… Yeah. Broken glass. In the kitchen.”

“Don’t move.”

He stays still as she fetches the field kit he has in the linen closet, doesn’t make a sound when she cleans and dresses the cut, even though it stings like a bitch. He’s glad for the pain, somehow. It grounds him, reconnects him with reality.

“There. Good as new.”

He breathes in deep and sits up, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You okay now?”

He’s not, not yet. “I will be. Thanks Cath.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles, beautiful and bright and he feels a rush of something, a thing he doesn’t want to name, not yet.

“You know it’s true though right?” he says.

“What is?”

“That I can’t live without you.”

“Really.”

Her tone is disbelieving but he smiles nonetheless. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. How would I ever catch all those terrorists and keep myself together if you weren’t here?”

She laughs, pearly and bright and it helps push away the memories and the what-could-have-beens.

“You’re so full of it, McGarrett,” she says, slapping his shoulder lightly

He stands and puts a hand on her shoulder, his thumb caressing the dip between her neck and her collarbone. “Thanks, Cath. I mean it.”

“Don’t mention it. I gotta go.” She slips out of his grasp and walks out of the bathroom without looking back.

“Hey! Cath! Wait!”

She turns, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I think there’s somewhere you gotta be.”

He smiles again, nodding. She really, really is too good for him. She’s gone in a flash but she’s right, too.  He rubs his face and stands, facing the mirror. There’s something he’s gotta do, somewhere he’s gotta be, someone he’s got to be there for.

 

* * *

 

It’s later than he ever thought he’d make it when he gets home but somehow he’s still standing. He ended up having a grand time with Grace, her presence and innocence enough to push the memories back where they belong, to try and put this day behind him. He knows he’ll probably wake up screaming Grace’s name again, the two faces melting into a single nightmare but he’s a bit used to that, especially on days like this. All he wants now is to down a few shots of Jack and pass out.

It’s testament to how tired he is when he doesn’t notice the man sitting by his door until he speaks.

“How was the dance?”

He takes a step back in surprise but relaxes right away, as soon as he places the voice, the shape, the face.

“Good. It was good, just what I needed. Put things back in perspective. So, uh… What are you doing here?”

Steve reaches a hand over his legs and lifts up a six-pack of beer. “I know you said you’d buy me one but how ‘bout sharing these with me?”

Danny stands there, hands in his pockets and just nods, over and over again.

“Yeah,” he says thinly turning his back to his apartment door and letting himself slide against it until he’s sitting on the concrete next to Steve.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he says and if Steve notices how his voice is breaking, he doesn’t say. It’s too dark to really see but he’d swear Steve’s eyes are all puffy and red still. It’s not like either of them can pretend they haven’t seen the tears the other shed, haven’t felt the half-choked sobs they shared at the same time they’d hugged.

He hears the hiss-pop of two beers being opened and feels a bottle pressed into his hand.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

He feels a knock on the neck of his beer and looks at Steve. He’s holding his bottle in front of him, waiting. Danny lifts his own, knocking the bottles together.

“To Grace Tilwell,” Steve says. “And you.”

Danny nods. “Right back at ya. To partners.”

Steve nods and drinks.

“Partners.”

They’re still sitting there when the sun comes up, the six-pack long gone. And somehow, today doesn’t feel like yesterday, doesn’t feel like borrowed time.

It feels like his life’s his again.

It feels like he’s free.

 

FIN


End file.
